


Never Too Late

by seraphina_snape



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Epiphanies, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 14:23:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3771526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphina_snape/pseuds/seraphina_snape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They’d grabbed dinner on the way home. Jim had opened a couple of beers and Blair had unloaded dinner, spreading takeout cartons over the kitchen table. They had started eating like they had hundreds if not thousands of times before. Then Blair had taken a long pull of his beer and Jim had been struck with the realization that he was fiercely, completely and undeniably in love with his partner. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "road not taken" challenge @ [gameofcards](http://gameofcards.livejournal.com/). The point was the write a fix-it or alternate ending for a show/episode/book/etc. 
> 
> I always felt that Jim and Blair would eventually get to this point because I can't imagine one of them leaving the other for the white picket fence wife/kids/dog utopia. Sadly, the show never got that far, so I fixed it for them. :p

It wasn’t anything earth shattering that triggered his epiphany. Nobody was shot or got kidnapped or drugged or stabbed. There was no threat to his tribe or his territory and definitely no threat to his guide, unless Chinese takeout for the third time that week counted as a threat. Given Blair’s usual approach to excessive fast food consumption, it might – but he’d been the one to suggest stopping at Ming’s on the way home, so Jim felt relatively safe on that account. 

Blair frowned at him, fork hovering halfway between his carton of roasted duck and his mouth. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” Jim shook his head, emphasizing the point. “Just thinking about something.” 

Blair’s expression cleared and he stuffed his food into his mouth, chewing loudly. The chewing helped to disguise the smirk on his lips, but Jim knew him well enough to hear the implied “don’t break anything trying to think too hard” loud and clear.

He rolled his eyes and stuffed half a spring roll into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. 

It was an ordinary Thursday. They’d interviewed five witnesses in the morning, grabbed a couple of sandwiches on the way back to the station and then spent the afternoon cross-checking the witness statements against each other, the rest of the evidence and the input from Jim’s sentinel senses. The lack of progress made them stay well past dinner, eager to find something that would give their case new direction. Eventually, though, Blair’s stomach had rumbled and Jim’s had taken that as the cue to chime in with its own opinion. They’d grabbed dinner on the way home. Jim had opened a couple of beers and Blair had unloaded dinner, spreading takeout cartons over the kitchen table. They had started eating like they had hundreds if not thousands of times before. Then Blair had taken a long pull of his beer and Jim had been struck with the realization that he was fiercely, completely and undeniably in love with his partner. 

“Still thinking?” Blair asked, sounding faintly amused. “Rhetorical question,” he added right away. “I can practically see the smoke coming from your ears, man. Must be a heavy topic.” 

The tone was light, but Jim heard the implied offer to listen if he wanted to talk it through. 

Jim hummed, turning back to his spring rolls. He and Blair had been partners – first unofficially and then not for a while and then (finally) officially – for a little over ten years now. Ten years, and he’d never realized before that he wanted this forever. 

He wanted to come home with Blair, to Blair, see him every day and catalog the gray-to-brown ration in his (shorter, now, but still full and curly, with a speckling of gray at the temples) hair. He wanted to listen to socio-political rants over morning coffee and Blair’s laughter when he beat Jim at basketball. He wanted to feel Blair’s hands on his arms, his back, his face. And, he admitted silently, his face heating up, on lots of other, perhaps more interesting, places. 

There was absolutely no question in Jim’s mind that he would tell Blair about his revelation sooner or later. Sooner, possibly, judging by the way Blair was studying him out of the corner of his eyes. Blair always tried to let him puzzle things out on his own, but eventually curiosity would make him pester Jim until he had the full story.

Jim wasn’t sure how Blair felt. He was occasionally aroused in Jim’s presence, but adrenaline and near-death experiences hardly made for conclusive evidence. Contrary to what Simon sometimes seemed to think, Jim didn’t make it a habit to sniff out everyone’s secret crushes and take note of the last time they jerked off. Blair knew that. Blair also knew how to hide things from a sentinel. More importantly, though, Jim hadn’t been looking for signs of attraction - if there were any that Blair hadn't bothered to hide, in all likelihood Jim wouldn't even have noticed them. 

If Blair didn’t want him, it would be unbearable, that much was clear. Even clearer was the fact that Jim still wouldn’t be able to let Blair slip out of his life again. He would gladly bear the pain of unrequited love if it meant their friendship survived intact. 

They finished their meal and Blair headed for the bathroom, an old t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants slung over his shoulder. 

Jim used the time Blair was in the shower to park himself on the sofa, tablet in hand, flipping through his case notes and taking another look at the crime scene photos, deliberately not thinking about Blair naked in the bathroom. 

“You ready to talk about it yet?”

Jim jumped, cluing Blair in that the answer was probably no. 

Blair sat next to him, bare feet on the edge of the coffee table. His t-shirt was slightly damp and his hair shone wetly. He squinted at the tablet in Jim’s hands and Jim smiled. Blair’s glasses – more of a permanent addition these days than they used to be – were probably on the sink in the bathroom, where he usually put them before a shower. Jim could count the occasions where he didn’t forget and had to go back later to fetch them on one hand.

“Damn,” Blair cursed quietly. “Where did I put my--”

Jim laughed, feeling more sure than ever. He wanted this, forever. Blair bitching about his glasses, feet on the coffee table ( _so_ against the rules), warm and happy and right there beside him. 

“What?” Blair asked.

“I love you,” Jim said. 

"Okay." Blair blinked. “I love you, too.” He gave Jim a suspicious look, like he wasn't sure he wanted to ask, and then reached for the tablet. 

It wasn’t the first time they’d said it. Usually the circumstances were more dramatic – emergency rooms, car chases, waiting for an airlift to the hospital while bleeding from multiple gunshot wounds – but usually the meaning behind the words was a little different as well. 

Jim caught Blair’s hand on the tablet and Blair looked at him, waiting. 

“I love you,” Jim repeated. “But what I meant to say was that I’m in love with you.” 

Blair looked absolutely stunned. Jim wasn't sure that was a good thing, but he didn't look panicked or scared or like he was about to crush Jim's heart into tiny pieces. 

"Blair?" he asked when Blair simply continued to stare at him intently. Blair hadn't pulled his hand away from Jim's, so Jim ran his thumb over the back of Blair's hand.

“Whoa, give me a second here, big guy," Blair said. He moved his hand and for a moment Jim thought he was pulling away from him, but Blair simply turned his hand around and linked their fingers, keeping Jim's thumb trapped with his own.

Blair laughed faintly, not necessarily amused, but not hysterical either. "Man, I was just coming to terms with being platonic life partners for the rest of our lives. This is like... continental plates shifting and I need a moment to adjust, Jim, or I'm gonna lose my footing. My brain is going into overload as it is.”

Jim nodded. "As much time as you need." As long as he didn't lose Blair in the process.

"You love me," Blair said, slowly, like he was testing out the words. "You're in love with me. You... you want to hold hands and kiss me and sleep next to me and sleep _with_ me and--"

"--host poker nights together and argue over whose turn it is to go shopping and argue over who's driving and eat Naomi's horrible sage chicken casserole without complaint because it makes her happy and that makes _you_ happy." Jim nodded, listing all the things they already did, things that he and Carolyn never really got the hang of without making the loft into the stage for their own personal World War Three for a while. "Yeah, that's what I want." 

"Jim, you're making it sound like we're already married which--" Blair paused. "Okay, now that I think about it, maybe we kind of are. So, same as before, only with kissing."

Jim couldn't help it. Blair was talking about kissing and Jim's eyes developed a life of their own, dropping down to study Blair's lips. Pinker than usual – his whole body was still flush from the hot shower; Jim could feel the extra heat radiating from his skin even through their clothing – and full and slightly wet. 

For the first time in ten years, Jim used his senses to study Blair's reaction to him. 

Blair's heartbeat was loud and steady, faster than usual. On impulse, Jim squeezed Blair's hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss Blair's knuckles. Blair's heartbeat spiked temporarily and settled into an even faster rhythm. His palm was slightly damp – sweat, not leftover moisture from the shower – and his breathing was shallow. 

Blair's face was an open book. If he'd ever tried to hide anything from Jim, he certainly wasn't doing it now. His eyes flickered over Jim's face, studying him just as intently as he was studying Blair. Blair's eyes were bright and dark when they met him and Jim didn't hesitate or even think about what he was doing, letting instinct take over. He leaned closer, his eyes drifting close, and waited.

Blair didn't disappoint. When Jim stopped a hair's breadth from his lips, he answered the unspoken question and closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. 

They kept the kiss chaste. Light pressure, no tongue, only a hint of the other's taste. This was a test, an acknowledgement, a wordless sigh of relief, a hello. 

Jim's last thought before they separated was that he'd never had a first kiss that was so comfortable. They were completely in tune, their hearts beating out the same rhythm. 

He wanted more. He wanted to run his hands through Blair's wet hair and press him back into the cushions. He wanted to rip off Blair's t-shirt and map his chest with his tongue. He wanted to lick into Blair's mouth as he squeezed Blair's ass. He wanted to suck on Blair's nipple piercing until Blair was a sobbing, needy mess, desperate to come. 

This time Jim didn't hesitate at the last second. Instead, he used his free hand to brush over Blair's hair, letting his fingers sink into the drying curls. His lips were on Blair's a second later, wet, warm and searching. Faintly, Jim wondered if he made a noise because Blair made on that sounded like an answer right before he opened his mouth and his tongue stroked over Jim's lips. With a moan, Jim opened his mouth and met Blair's tongue with his own. 

Where their first kiss had been sweet and comfortable and calm, their second one was all passion and heat, with Blair's tongue in his mouth and Blair's hot thigh pressed against his knee and Blair's hand sweaty and strong in his own. 

“Gotta say, Chief, I'm not feeling very platonic towards you,” Jim said breathlessly when they broke apart. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Blair snorted. "Non-platonic is good; no disappointment here, I promise."

“That’s good to know,” Jim said, resting his forehead against Blair’s. 

“Hmm,” Blair hummed, tilting his head a little so that their noses brushed. “Kissing,” he said, his voice almost dreamy, “there should be more kissing now. A lot more.” 

Jim couldn’t agreed more.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
